Page:The Yellow Book - 01.djvu/245

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225
By Hubert Crackanthorpe

then, suddenly conscious that he was waiting, she looked up at him.

"Good-night, doctor."

She held out her hand, and he took it.

"I'll get all right, won't I?" she asked, still looking up at him.

"All right—of course you will—of course. But remember you must do what I tell you."

The other man handed him his hat and umbrella, opened the door for him, and it closed behind them.

* * * *

The girl remained quiet, sharply blinking her eyes, her whole expression eager, intense.

A murmer of voices, a muffled tread of footsteps descending the stairs—the gentle shutting of a door—stillness.

She raised herself on her elbow, listening; the cloak slipped noiselessly to the floor. Quickly her arm shot out to the bell-rope: she pulled it violently; waited, expectant; and pulled again.

A slatternly figure appeared—a woman of middle-age—her arms, bared to the elbows, smeared with dirt; a grimy apron over her knees.

"What's up?—I was smashin' coal," she explained.

"Come here," hoarsely whispered the girl—"here—no—nearer—quite close. Where's he gone?"

"Gone? 'oo?"

"That man that was here."

"I s'ppose 'ee's in the downstairs room. I ain't 'eard the front door slam."

"And Dick, where's he?"

"They're both in there together, I s'ppose."

"I want you to go down—quietly—without making a noise—listen at the door—come up, and tell me what they're saying."

"What